


Flowers and a Fruitbasket

by Iwantthatcoat



Series: Piecroft Chronicles [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV)
Genre: A retelling of the events in Part One, M/M, Self-cest, Time Travel, Uni!Sherlock, We heard all about it in Practical Affair, Why shouldn't John enjoy it too?
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-07-16
Updated: 2017-07-19
Packaged: 2018-12-02 17:45:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 5,339
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/11514315
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Iwantthatcoat/pseuds/Iwantthatcoat
Summary: From A Practical Affair: "If it were the following year, I just might have deleted this information, but for now, you can thank the good folk at the College of Medicine for not noticing the non-medical student sitting in on their Thursday morning lectures on body systems.""God yes, thank you," he stammered. "I'll send them flowers."Sherlock, true to his word, has sent the Department Chair some flowers upon his return to the present-- a reward for allowing his past self to have audited some very helpful anatomy lessons. Imagine his surprise to see an email from his preself requesting he head back in time yet again, and to bring that doctor he wasn't allowed to so much as hint at the existance of with him. (What beats timetravel selfcest? A timetravel selfcest threesome! Coming soon in the third instalment of the Piecroft Chronicles ) But first things first... what does he tell John? Part Two of the trilogy.





	1. Dr Violet Barlow's cat

Dr Violet Barlow cursed under her breath as she watched the automatic doors close just as she managed to make it to the edge of the platform. If her new kitten hadn't somehow managed to dig some plastic wrapper out of the _covered_ trashcan and regurgitate it directly into her only pair of navy pumps, she wouldn't have been late...and the next train wasn't for another ten minutes. She couldn't stay mad at the tiny thing, of course-- had been her own fault for cutting it so close-- but her home-to-work routine had been streamlined to absolute perfection over the last thirty-odd years. She wasn't used to having someone (something, rather) new in her life to upset the flow. But that was a good thing. And she could be late once every decade. It was, after all, her department. 

She greeted a rather surprised secretary, headed into her office, and froze as she opened the door.

On top of her immaculately-arranged desk was a huge bouquet of tasteful flowers, not a single carnation in the bunch, and a giant fruit basket.

The card said: _In gratitude for your stellar instruction in anatomy and physiology throughout your lengthy career. -S. Holmes_

Her first thought was panic. Was this a subtle suggestion that she should be considering retirement? But that name... Oh! That was the detective in the papers, wasn't it? The one in the hat. She usually kept tabs on her most promising students, but she couldn't recall him ever taking one of her classes. Well, perhaps he wasn't as promising back then. But it seemed as though something she had taught him had stuck with him through the years and had proven especially helpful in solving some crime or another. She smiled. 

Education was a rewarding field.


	2. Just The Good Bits

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It is not necessary to read A Practical Affair first, but it might help with some of the terminology, how time travel works in this Universe, and the sections Sherlock chooses to edit out. You'll still be fine, though.

"Your read is lousy because I'm feeling so many different emotions right now. Sadness, that you ever thought you weren't good enough for me. Anger, that you did something on your own behind my back again. Relief, that it wasn't with someone else. Anger at myself, that I could even think there would have been someone else. And, um...arousal at the whole notion of there having been... two of you trying things out." John shifted in his chair. "And, I think, right now, that last one is in the lead. How-- Ummmmm...what year did you..."

"Oh. During Uni. Want to hear about it?"

John dropped his book and slid up next to Sherlock, running his hand down his chest as he spoke. "I do."

Sherlock hesitated a moment, assessing how many of the less titillating details John might require. How a time bubble worked. Getting clearance from his brother (who was 'Piecroft' now, and likely would be for the next few weeks, at least). How it felt to... fade away. No. No, he would just be recounting the good parts. John's interest was fascinating and... unexpected.

John grinned. "You seem surprised."

"I'll admit to having been concerned you'd find it distressing. He-- my pre-self, that is-- seemed to think you might."

"I'm sure on some level I do. But at the moment, I am far more intrigued by thoughts of twice as much Sherlock Holmes. Two Sherlock Holmes...es--" John nearly laughed at the tongue-twisting aspect and Sherlock had never been quite so happy at the sound of his own, rather odd, name, "--running sexual experiments on each other. I'm sure I'm glossing over all the dull bits...the statistical analysis, box-and-whisker plots, histograms and such... but, yes, it definitely has my interest."

"I'm not entirely certain where to start."

"Well, first may I suggest a change of room?"

Once they were in bed, stripped down to their pants, John resumed their discussion. "Well now, how about we start at this... _brilliant_ idea of yours."

"No need for continued sarcasm. You've already proven your point."

"Have I then? Good. So you have this plan, because you want to practice, and it couldn't be with anyone else, and it couldn't be with me, so it had to be with you."

"Precisely."

"And you needed approval. You told Mycroft it was for a case." John stopped and reconsidered. "Right? You didn't just tell him what it was actually for... did you?" Sherlock was a strange blend of reticent and unabashed. John could picture either possibility. 

"I didn't tell him that exactly, no. He... figured it out on his own."

"I bet he was horrified."

"You would be correct."

"And he lets you go. Um... _grants you access_. Can you schedule exactly where and when you arrive? Could you get access to the future? Is that even allowed?" 

"Special clearance for that. They are more lenient with visits to the past. Part of that is psychological-- the sense that what is done is done and you are essentially just an observer. A time tourist. The larger part is, in fact, economic. Going forward in time, you could be privy to information such as stock performance and marketshare. Big penalties for messing with that. If you are cleared to travel, you'd better not make too much money upon your return. The unit they place you in is self-contained. It is essentially a pocket out of time."

"I see. And you picked a... nineteen-year-old you?"

"Twenty-two. And actually, Mycroft did. To be honest, I would have much preferred the me from last week."

"The you from last week that had just solved that whole mess at Reigate? Yes, I remember kissing that Sherlock Holmes. Excellent choice."

"Well, I wasn't afforded the opportunity to set the coordinates. The Sherlock Holmes I kissed was quite different."

John rolled closer to Sherlock, lightly straddling his thigh, and propped his head up. "How so?"

"Well, he was a bit thinner..."

"Go on." John closed his eyes.

"And a bit, more unkempt..."

"Mmmm hmmm."

"And considerably more obnoxious."

"Not surprising." John opened his eyes. They shifted slightly to the side. "Were you--"

"Was I high?"

"Yeah. Were you high."

"Not at the time, no."

"I'm sorry, I shouldn't have asked." 

"No, no it's fine to ask. I was before. I probably was after. But...no. Not then."

"You don't know if you were after?"

"It was around the time I had quit. Met Lestrade. Hung around at the Yard. Might have talked some sense into myself during the visit, but somehow, I doubt it."

"Might have made it worse, if you were as stubborn as I was at that age. Besides, things like that are probably already accounted for. It's that way in the novels, anyway." This time, it was Sherlock who leaned forward in interest. "The idea that if you mess with the past, it's already been messed with, so you aren't really messing with it at all. You kill Hitler. You kidnap another baby and stick it in the nursery while you escape. That new baby is _actually_ the Hitler we all know and... don't love. Cue dramatic music. Roll credits."

"Hmmmm. Time travel theorists are disproportionately concerned with Hitler." 

John continued. "OK so, before you tell me all about this, let's cut to the ending. Was it a good thing? Are you pleased you did this?"

"Yes. I'd say so."

"Um-- and wow, does this sound weird-- was it good for both yous?"

"He won't remember it-- that's a time travel thing-- but yes. He said as much. That it  
was a positive experience."

"Good. Well, now that I know I can feel good about the whole thing, you may proceed." John grinned and rubbed up alongside Sherlock's thigh until he was resting his head against his shoulder. He placed his hand on Sherlock's chest and began to idly trace along the musculature.

"He is doing an experiment when I materialise in the front room."

"You just appear?"

"Basically, yes... but he is in the other room."

"When a tall, dark, and handsome not-a-stranger appears..."

"Do you want me to actually tell this, John?"

"Sorry... lost in the moment. I'll shut up."

"And he calls out from the other room-- hasn't seen me, only heard me-- and says, 'I know you are me, and there are five possible reasons why you'd come here.' Then, before I know it, he's in the room looking me up and down." Sherlock gave John the same intense scrutiny. John swallowed.

"Sexy, isn't it? You've never been on the receiving end of that."

"No... I haven't. And... and yes, it was. So, after examining me, he says, 'Well the state of your clothing seems to rule out all five. It's clearly not some end-of-the-world cataclysmic event, and, frankly, I'm not sure why you--' And then he stops. And says, 'Oh'."

"And then he does the blinky thing."

"Right. The blinky thing." Sherlock frowned. He had only been recently made aware of the fact that he _did_ a blinky thing. "He says that I look far too well-composed for it to be an emergency, and, in fact, that I... well, this is when he touches my chest," John copied the preself's action, "and says that I look remarkably good. Then he says 'I suspect that you are not permitted to disclose exactly why you are here, so stop me if I've got it wrong'... and he leans in... very slowly." John followed suit, slowly moving until he was nose to nose with Sherlock. "And kisses me."

"Mmmmm." John did not kiss him. Yet. 

"It's all slow enough so I could stop him if he was wrong, but he's me, so...he's right, of course."

Now John kissed him. And though he knew it didn't need to be, John made the kiss soft, cautious, nearly chaste. "And so the younger you gets a lesson in seduction."

"Or maybe I got one from him?"

"Somehow I doubt that. The older version has been fine-tuning his skills with _me_. Picking up a few pointers." John leaned in and kissed him again. This time it was slow and sultry and Sherlock felt like he just wanted to give himself over. He could do this. He knew it with absolute certainly now.

"He's a bit nervous, so we sit on the sofa and have a frank discussion regarding how practice is helpful and sexual skills are learned, and then we kiss some more. We take turns. Try different angles. Different levels of pressure. His skin is smoother than mine, and he provides me with invaluable feedback on how stubble feels against one's cheek...too rough...too glancing...just right." 

"Like this?" John was Sherlock's preself again, and dragged a stubbly cheek against Sherlock's jawline. 

"Exactly like that."

Sherlock checked John's reaction, an easy task with your partner's erection pressing against your thigh, and smiled. "It is also his idea to suck on my tongue, hard and fast. I assume that he feels at a disadvantage and is employing a more aggressive style as compensation; in any case, I like it. Perhaps a demonstration?"

Sherlock grasped the sides of John's head and sucked hard on his tongue, drawing it in forcefully. John and he had done this sort of thing before, but Sherlock had been a bit too stunned to return the move, or even to respond at all. Instead he had spun off into a negative train of thought. How, if the tongue was a representational penis, could he ever be expected to match John's skill? Surely he would sputter and cough. It had thrown him out of the moment and he had had to fight his way back. He sucked harder. Perfect. This time, he focused on the physical sensation, entirely present, knowing any comparable act would certainly be possible... albeit far from easy. He ground his hips up into John's.

"I wanted to be this confident, John. It's... important to get it right."

"No it isn't, you idiot. It's important to have fun trying. But I understand. Sort of. And if it ultimately helped you feel more comfortable with me, I will convince myself it was for the best. And I _am_ enjoying this retelling. So...you kiss."

"For quite a long time, yes. And after that, it only makes sense to practice touching whilst kissing."

John chuckled. "Logical."

"I hope you're enjoying yourself mocking me, John. It's your last chance." Sherlock gave John an intense, serious look for a few seconds-- until it fell apart, accompanied by silent laughter. "Well, to continue. I know I have sensitive nipples. I have always known this. Apparently, I might just have... learned it from myself." John's eyes moved to the side and he rolled his lips. "No, don't even try to puzzle it out, John. I've tried, and even _I_ was left a bit boggled."

"Got it. What you need is a good dose of pop culture. Plotline happens all the time, practically cliché to have told yourself something significant. Not usually something like that, but, same concept."

"The thing is, I wouldn't have remembered it as such, until I reached the date on which I travelled back. My preself chose to forget. But since it is something I have always been aware of, I am beginning to suspect some of this experience worked its way into my subconscious."

"Wait. Your preself _chose_ to forget?"

"It's complicated-- I'll explain that bit later-- but, yes. In any case, seeing my positive reaction is a confidence boost. I think that perhaps I will hesitate-- going from one phase to the next-- but, it feels natural once we are touching to simply continue touching. Just in different places and in different ways. This isn't entirely new, as you know, since _we've_ certainly kissed and touched before-- but, not with a... well, an end-goal in mind. With you, it had been just because we liked doing it. That's... different."

"And this is more purposeful." John slid on top of Sherlock and began sucking on his nipples as Sherlock grabbed John's shoulders and dug in his fingers. "Just keep telling me what you did to him. I want to relive the experience with you. Since I couldn't be there then, I want to be there now. Plus, you get a little role reversal. See how you would have liked being on the receiving end of things, right?"

Sherlock nodded. He would have to think fast. What he was telling John had already deviated significantly from the actual sequence of events, and this fiction would have to ring true.


	3. The Lying Detective

In John's conceptualisation of events, Sherlock had taken the lead, guiding his less-experienced self, perhaps even convincing him that something he was hesitant about was worth an attempt. Well, he had, in a sense, except his preself had been far bolder than he, and the acts he cajoled his younger self into weren't ones he much cared to repeat. 

If John were to recreate whatever acts he described, then Sherlock never had to say what he wanted-- or didn't want. He could just, work it into his account or leave it out. Much easier. He could even say 'and then we fed each other Chicken Masala' and John would pick up the phone and order it. Some might feel heady with that type of power, but Sherlock just felt relieved. 

It felt a bit devious, this method of communicating his wants and needs, but he was all about devious. Why come out and say what you wanted when you could use an intricately detailed method of avoiding direct communication instead? 

John was lightly sucking at his nipples again, and Sherlock sighed. "Then we run a sort of informal test on skin sensitivity. But no... no charts... though. Just... seeing if a lighter or firmer touch is best."

"I already know that. You like _this_." John trailed his fingers lightly down Sherlock's side. "Light and soft. Barely touching at times." 

"And then I try... pinning him down... a bit."

"Ah! That's a new one. We hadn't gotten quite that horizontal before. Except for the actual sleeping part of sleeping together. Did he... _like_ it?" John was studying Sherlock carefully now. 

"Oh, and, that too."

"What too?"

"The staring. The scrutiny. Yes, he... I really like the scrutiny."

"Can't say it's quite the same as when you do it. You analyse me down to my cells. But, I am certainly capable of what we might call a thorough examination. So if I immobilise here," John pinned down his hips, "and, examine...here...."

Sherlock's "Yes, like that," sounded weaker than even he had anticipated.

John was full of mischievous energy. "Oh, yes, _exactly_ like that. Good. So tell me, when you had him pinned and wanting, just like this, what did you do next? Because I know what I want to do next, with you lying here looking like this."

Sherlock nodded. "Yes, and that is exactly what I did."

"Christ, Sherlock, that's just... I..." John blushed a bit. That was a rare thing. "Can I--"

"God, yes, please."

John ran one hand gently over Sherlock's cock while keeping him pinned with a combination of his other arm and upper body. "I can't decide if I want this to be a quiet and reverent moment-- our first time like this-- or if I want to hear you keep talking. To tell me the rest until your voice gives out. Preference?"

"Don't care. Just want to watch you. Please let me just... watch you do this."

The request was enough to set John off, and he grabbed Sherlock's cock and drew the edges of his foreskin together in a gentle tug before moving it back again and sliding his tongue in a tight circle around the tip while Sherlock sucked in a deep breath. "Okay, now buck up into me just a bit." 

Sherlock groaned and pushed his body forward as best he could and John carefully noted the points of weakness in his hold and reinforced them. "There. That's better." The weight of John on his pelvis, his thighs, even the rest of his legs was grounding. He craned his neck up to watch, but it wasn't long before he had to drop his head back. 

"No, wait. You'll want a better view. I'll let you up a bit. Go ahead." Sherlock quickly grabbed a pillow and positioned it between the headboard and his neck and upper back "Good. Now, I think I'll have you continue. So, you were about to... suck yourself off. God, Sherlock, your other self actually thought this would be anything other than obscenely hot? I'm disappointed in your deductive skills."

"Not my a...re...ahhh.... John! That's... no, no, it's a good reaction, I'm just... I'll keep going. He couldn't have felt this good though, John. That would be impossible."

"So, he didn't do this for you too? No comparative study?”

Sherlock was about to explain that that wasn't the purpose of the experiment when a closer examination of John's eyes indicated that the prospect of them taking turns might be something John found...inspiring.

"Well, that really wasn't the point-- comparison. But I _am_ interested in seeing how well I can perform fellatio when distracted by chasing after my own pleasure, so we try to stimulate each other simultaneously." 

"So you are saying you sucked yourself off and then decided to turn it into 69ing? I think I can fucking cut diamonds with my dick now, Sherlock. I need to hear about this." John wrapped his lips around Sherlock's cock and slowly worked his way down.

His sentences were punctuated by deep breaths. "It is.... very distracting. I keep getting sidetracked... by how I feel, and then I realise... I have completely lost focus on what I am meant to be doing." John worked his way back up again. "I have to ask him to stop. He asks for thirty more seconds-- of just... him... on.... me-- and then we can go back... to what we were doing... previously."

"And you agreed."

"I give him fifteen. Seconds are a long time."

John laughed.

"He says yes, so long as I count the seconds out for us. I am not pleased about this at first, because I am already having problems multitasking, as it were. But I start to count."

"Up or down?"

"What?" 

"The count. Were you counting up to fifteen, or down to zero? I want you to count for   
me."

Sherlock began counting forward at a measured pace, "One. Two--"

"Not yet! Wait till I..." 

This. "One." This was definitely different. "Two." When he had orally pleasured his preself, "Three," he had assumed the person receiving, "Four," the attention would be penetrating his "Five," partner's mouth. This was more like..."Six," surrounding. Enveloping. It was the same, "Seven," act, but it was an entirely different set of-- "Ei....ght," _I'm more than halfway there and it is not_ , "...Ni...ne...," _even remotely like the other time,_ "Ten,"-- emotions. 

Watching John do this, well... John, "Eleven," still had every bit of power and control. That, "Twelve," hadn't changed, but... _oh God I can feel this,_ "Thir...teen," _building fast. I have two, just two, left and it's,_ "Fourteen," _like I'm giving myself a time limit and it's hhh... it's right...hereit'sright,_ Fifteen!" And Sherlock was coming and John was drawing himself in even more tightly, letting him know he had no intention of breaking away.

Sherlock was still breathing hard and trying to hide his disappointment as he mumbled, "That was... fast. And good. Very, very good, but... fast."

"And, did you have the same outcome with your preself?"

"No. Not remotely like this." Sherlock felt as if that was the first honest thing he had said all evening. John smiled. 

"Fast is fine. Slow is also fine. But, there is a lot to be said for fast. Particularly since it buys us a bit more time to try other things before it can happen again." Sherlock hadn't thought of it that way, but yes, of course. They could just keep going. "And, it also feels very, very good... to have that sort of impact."

"I suppose that with him I was more anxious? Which was the whole point, really. To gradually become less anxious. It was a learning experience, after all."

"Well, I hope it wasn't quite so one-sided. For you, I mean."

"Are you trying to delicately ask me if I got off, John? Really, that isn't your style. Delicacy."

"Trying to be tactful. Which _is_ my style, git."

"Yes, we both do. I was-- I mean, I am-- surprisingly gracious, considering how disinterested I-- 'he' is the word to use in this instance, I suppose-- was." No. That admission had been a mistake. Sherlock made a mental note to always compensate for the lack of mental clarity immediately following orgasm. Perhaps John had enough blood diverted from his brain to not pick up on it.

"Not interested?" _No. Of course he is perfectly lucid. That would have been entirely too convenient._ "I assume you mean your preself, since it was your idea in the first place."

"This will probably sound very wrong, John, but... the younger me was..... Well, I didn't have the work yet. But I had some experiments, and, lots of... let's call them 'chemical diversions'... and they served as a bit of distraction, perhaps, for whatever passing attraction I felt and chose not to act on-- or, perhaps, never truly felt at all. It is difficult to say. Sex hardly occupied any of my mental landscape. Partnered or solo; I didn't think it much worth my time."

"So what did you do... bribe yourself?" John laughed. 

Sherlock laughed too. It would be a terrible thing to admit it was a possibility he had certainly entertained. "Fortunately, I am generally up for novel experiences when there is a sufficient level of understanding. And a lack of expectations for any particular outcome." 

"So you thought, it won't be as complicated if it's me, so why not?"

"Basically, yes. And, I think he was curious about other things he found more important. His future, for example."

"But you can't tell him any... oh. Yes, that rule would apply only to mere mortals, not detecting geniuses. So, I guess if he fucked up your future, we'd know about it by now."

"I assume so? You are the paradox expert."

"Yup. Now that we've established that both yous are manipulative as hell-- a fact which should surprise absolutely no one-- let's continue, shall we? He makes you count, and you count. And he is disappointed that his attempt is unsuccessful. Then what? Because I need a distraction here so I don't get pissed off thinking about all that you risked for this."

"Time bubble, John. It isn't supposed to affect my--"

"Yeah, I get it. But you can't tell me he didn't leave with more knowledge than is safely permitted." 

"Well, he did agree to forget it all."

"Voluntarily?"

"Yes. For... me. For _us_. So we could have this, actually." Sherlock's hand pivoted back and forth between them.

"So... so he wouldn't... you chose to actually forget it all?" John slid closer against him, quietly watching his face as he nodded.

"We were both quite concerned about accidental contamination of the timeline. He was fine the last time I saw him. Before I literally faded out of his world. I suspect he went back to his typical routine, leaving that behind. It... I have no idea what tense to use... it... will have been?... a rough year for me."

John kissed him softly. "I'm sorry. Giving up that knowledge must have been hard."

"Not really. Seeing as it would ensure I got back to here. Even if I did have difficulty believing me."

"I don't understand. You didn't think you would actually follow through in choosing to forget?"

"No. No, I mean my preself. I don't know that he was entirely convinced that I actually had you." Sherlock smiled. "It is rather unbelievable. I didn't think I'd ever have this."

"I... don't know that I would have believed myself either, actually." John kissed him again, then trailed kisses down Sherlock's jawline to his neck, then along his chest, stopping at his navel. "And I don't know that I would ever have done that with myself. Took me well into my army days to accept that this was something I could want. Once I did... well, then I just sort of... made up for lost time, I guess you'd say. But at Uni? I don't think so. Might have even decked myself at the implication, if I was young enough and shocked enough, that is. God, that's a tough thing to admit."

"We learn to forgive ourselves though, I suppose. Eventually."

"What else did you two get up to?" 

Sherlock cleared his throat. "Well, that's... that's about it. We get close enough to orgasm to prove I am proficient at hand jobs, frottage, intercrural.... anything involving friction. Then suction. And, uh..."

"You don't have to tell me. If you are embarrassed."

"I'm not embarrassed! They were all perfectly fine sexual activities. Not even especially daring ones. Nothing for me to feel embarrassed about."

"Except, it seems to me that you are. It's fine. I just, find it kind of... well I was going to say how hot it is to imagine the two of you, but now I... it's something else too. Kind of sweet, actually. I was expecting more of... well, I don't know what I was expecting. But, I'd like to meet that you and thank him. If you've checked anal sex off your list, you've got one up on me. I haven't done it. But I bet you knew that."

"I didn't."

John laughed. "You didn't check it off, or you didn't know I haven't done that particular act?"

Sherlock reddened slightly. "Both... actually."

"Oh. Well, we had to be a bit more secretive about trysts in the military. Different level of privacy. You always needed to be able to break away quickly, in case you were interrupted. Which made for far more hand jobs than anything else. Not dismissing that as a satisfying activity, by any means, but it always felt rushed, because it was."

"I didn't think it was due to any reservations concerning the act itself."

"No. Thought about doing it lots of times, but haven't done it."

"Well, it seems an easily transferable skill. The pacing has to be the same, essentially. Tighter fit, but..."

"Oh, you are assuming I... because.... Oh no, Sherlock. I'd much rather you do the honours. Please. I've been thinking about how it would feel for a very long time. So, I guess we are continuing the pattern we have going here, of you doing the things he did, because," John paused to look directly at Sherlock, "I really want you in me. Doesn't have to be, umm..."

Sherlock just blinked, saying nothing in response, and John, uncomfortable by the sudden silence, looked down. "I've got it wrong. I guess I was assuming that you _did_ try some sort of penetration in your time together because, well, I guessed fingers to practice. I've done fingers before-- never anyone else's, but.... I just assumed if the goal in mind was practical experience, that that would have been harder for you to do alone and you would have felt.... Okay, maybe that reverse comment doesn't apply. Sorry. I'm making assumptions as well."

"I... well, yes. You are absolutely correct that...that I wanted to test my capabili--, but it was't... not with his... it was with... with his... tongue. He chose what he, what _I_ ...I ..."

"It's funny. I wasn't going to bring it up, but, you get so adorably flustered when you _aren't making shit up,_ don't you? Don't get me wrong, the counting thing was really hot though. I liked it. So, how did it _really_ go?"

Sherlock sighed and spoke rapid-fire as if proving he could be still be honest and not be a stuttering mess. "Mixed. I wanted to make sure I could handle various activities that might prove difficult in one way or another. He didn't want to try penetration. The implication was that I shouldn't do everything all at once, but I suspect the real reason was he thought I should leave a few things to try for my first time when I returned. We didn't discuss it directly and I didn't question it. I suppose it occurred to me that you might like that... deflowering aspect?" John smirked. "In any case, I knew you had sufficient medical skills to guide me through penetrative sex. You do prostate exams on a regular basis. I...well," Sherlock smiled, "don't." He was serious again as he finished recounting the experience. "We didn't attempt any simultaneous stimulation, apart from the beginnings of mutual manual stimulation, which we abandoned rather quickly once I seemed competent. So 69 was never so much as attempted, but I thought you would enjoy the imagery. Oral sex was my chief concern; it didn't go particularly well, and he was quite mad at me for wanting to go through with it anyway. Said you wouldn't have done it if I wasn't comfortable."

"Younger you is wise."

"Older me is determined. I didn't want you to have to narrow your options. But, especially after watching you, I, think I might like it much better with a slightly different approach. Let's not rule it out just yet?"

"Okay. Anything else we keep off the menu for a bit, though?"

"No. I didn't get very far with penetration, but, I liked what we did try."

"So it's fine to toss some salad."

"Good God, John. Is that slang for analingus? How are they even.... at least 69 makes visual sense...."

John laughed. "Yeah. I'll use some other term. But, it won't be analingus."

"Perhaps we can forgo naming the act altogether and just... do it."

"I take it that went particularly well. Can you tell me more about it, then?" 

"I think I'd rather show you."


End file.
